


Wrong Trophy

by PenelopeAbigail



Series: Whumptober 2020 [28]
Category: Spider-Man (Video Game 2018), Spider-Man - All Media Types
Genre: Accidents, Day 28, Gen, Such wow. Many normal. Very oops., Whump, Whumptober 2020, hunting season, hurt!Peter
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-28
Updated: 2020-10-28
Packaged: 2021-03-08 20:53:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,455
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27252967
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PenelopeAbigail/pseuds/PenelopeAbigail
Summary: Peter chases some bad guys through the woods during hunting season, but it was in the middle of the night, so he'd be fine, right? Hunting at night was illegal, wasn't it?
Series: Whumptober 2020 [28]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1955698
Kudos: 12
Collections: Whumptober 2020





	Wrong Trophy

**Author's Note:**

> Day 28!  
> This one took me a hot minute to write, but it isn't late!

He had to be miles away by now, but no way was he going to give up.

This was unusual, him chasing a bad guy while dressed in day clothes.

When he was a teenager and fresh to the superhero gig, he’d almost lost his secret identity by trying to stop a thief while he was in his normal, _Peter-Parker_ clothes. After panicking and knocking the guy so hard he woke with amnesia, he vowed to himself to never get involved while Peter Parker. Only Spider-Man could stop criminals. Peter was just an average, ordinary dude.

The weight of the world was on his shoulders, or at least that’s what it felt like most of the time, but Peter Parker was his escape. He didn’t want to entangle the two. He wouldn’t.

Besides, banks were insured, jewelry shops were insured, restaurants were insured. Everything would still be okay if he was unable to catch someone because of his identity.

Sure, he still felt guilty when he had to let someone go, but there had to be a line, or he’d lose himself.

There had to be a line.

And there was. These guys just crossed it.

People around New York should know better than to take a run-down, back alleyway as a shortcut home _at night_ , but he was Spider-Man. He’d be fine.

He wasn’t on his way home, though; he was on his way back to his hotel. He was in Albany for the weekend on behalf of the Physics and Science college at ESU. He was their top student— _shocking, I know, he didn’t have much time to dedicate to education, yet_ he _was top? Just didn’t make sense_ —and had represented them at the Engineering expo last Friday night and all day Saturday.

He couldn’t run around being Spider-Man because that’d draw too many connections, even if people didn’t personally know him. But he had the hotel until tomorrow morning, so he was gonna take a little _me_ time and chill, explore the city, have fun.

Since he couldn’t get drunk, alcohol was way overpriced and pointless, so he just stuck to water and quickly realized that the people he was hanging out with just weren’t fun. That or he hadn’t legit hung out with people his age in a very long time.

Both?

He’d gotten lost in his head, just taking the city in, the lights, the skyline, the cool crisp air. He was only a few hours away, yet the air tasted different than Queens or Manhattan. He’d gotten lost in his head, relaxing for the first time in a while, forgetting that he didn’t know this city like the back of his hand. He’d forgotten where he was or where his hotel was or even how to get back to said hotel.

Hence, the back alleyways.

He hoped he didn’t draw unwanted attention. He couldn’t exactly fight crime right now.

He was dressed as Peter, which was why he turned away and melted past the drug deals, the money trading, and the group of guys with crowbars talking about hitting up Mamma’s Cafe in a couple of nights— _he wouldn’t be around, so he’d need to remember to tip the police._

He was dressed in day clothes, not his Spider-Man suit, so if he was caught stopping crime, everybody would know it was him under the mask without needing to make any correlations. At least, they would if he stopped crime the same way Spider-Man did.

He couldn’t turn his back on the three guys dragging a struggling girl out into the woods.

That wasn’t robbery at all, that was either rape or murder, and he couldn’t stand by and do nothing.

But he couldn’t be caught!

The sun had fully set hours ago, and he hadn’t needed to check the time. It could have been midnight for all he knew, and honestly, he figured it was probably later. Either way, he slipped into the woods behind them, silent and undetected.

He didn’t want to do anything immediately, just to make sure this wasn’t a prank they were pulling on her or anything—which was doubtful, but still. He didn’t want to hurt anybody unless absolutely necessary.

She stopped struggling and Pete couldn’t tell if she was going along with it, or accepting it, or what. Maybe she’d been drugged. It was dark, and they were making a lot of noise that all mixed together, so he wasn’t exactly sure what was going on.

Until they stopped and dropped her. She was awake and crying and still had fight in her, so yeah, this was going to go bad very quickly. Even if this was just some prank, they’d trekked over a mile through these woods, and she was in fear the whole time. Ain’t no way she was walking away without some form of trauma from this.

One of the guys started unbuckling his belt while another reached forward to grab her and hold her, and Pete had enough. This was not going to happen tonight. It was never going to happen the moment they caught Spider-Man’s attention—well, Peter’s attention.

He couldn’t use his web-shooters, but he didn’t need to, took the guy holding the girl out in one hit. But it was in the dead of night, and no matter how stealthy he was, he couldn’t stop the leaves from crunching or twigs from snapping, two of the guys ran.

Two of the would-be rapists ran.

Not on his watch!

He needed to make sure the girl was all right, first (wasn’t like he was going to let them get away, he was freaking Spider-Man). She was crying, picking herself up off the ground.

“Can you get home all right?”

She nodded and pulled out her phone, opening Maps, and Pete knew she’d be okay, so he took off.

They’d both run further into the woods, and Peter not-so-slightly hoped they’d get lost. That’d be better for them both than to end up being caught by him.

Their path wasn’t hard to follow. He could hear them clearly in the dead of night, and they were being stupid running in the same direction together. That’d make it easier to catch them— _okay, yeah, no, that wasn’t stupid, if you’re lost in the woods, stick together. Always. But when you’re being chased by Spider-Man? Split up!_

But they didn’t know they were being chased by Spider-Man. They probably just thought he was a Good Samaritan or something.

He was much faster than them and caught up easily. Unfortunately for him, the guy he pounced on just happened to know how to fight.

The other guy got away while Pete spent a whole minute knocking this one out.

If Pete sat very still and held his breath, though, he could still hear the guy running sloppily and noisily, and just followed that sound.

Gosh, they had to be like two or three miles into these woods by now.

And with that thought, Pete remembered that he’s not from here, and he didn’t know how to get back to the city. Eh, it’d be fine. He had a phone, and that girl was a great example of how to use Google Maps.

When Pete thought he’d lost this guy, all he had to do was stop, hold his breath, and listen. It only took about ten minutes, but he caught up all right. This guy also knew how to fight, which was odd that they did, most guys didn’t, but kudos to them. However, it wasn’t cool that they thought raping people was okay.

That was definitely not cool, and Pete made sure they had concussions before leaving them in the woods alone.

He’d barely started to make his way back before a branch cracked to his right and he startled, crouched down to hide, and glanced around.

It was still completely dark, and his spidey-sense was warning him of something, but what could possibly be threatening out here? Maybe it was just a raccoon or something. Maybe a deer.

He waited just a bit, listening to the very faint sounds of some animal grazing in the dead of night— _which animals were nocturnal, again?_ —before stealthily standing up and moving. He didn’t want to startle the poor creature, but he didn’t want the deer to attack him— _did deer do that, or did they always just run away?_

God knew Pete would feel super guilty if he accidentally hurt a deer, but Pete was pretty sure the deer wouldn’t attack him, would just run instead, and he’d never been this close to a deer before.

Okay, he really wanted to pet it.

Maybe since he was part animal— _part animal? Did a spider count as an animal? That was weird to think about. Were insects a subset of animals or were they and animals on the same level_?

Maybe since he was partly non-human, the deer wouldn’t spook as easily, so he crept out—a twig snapped and the deer’s head shot up. It wasn’t him, came from his right, but it was probably nothing, his sense’s warning level didn’t change, so it was probably just another animal.

He crept closer. The deer turned its head to look at him, just stood there—then his spider-sense skyrocketed, and at the same time, a loud gunshot popped off.

For some reason, Pete didn’t think of dodging first. He thought of pushing the deer away instead. When the bullet pierced his collarbone and shattered his shoulder blade, he thought, perhaps, he should have let the deer be shot instead. After all, it was hunting season— _but wasn’t it illegal to hunt at night?_

He felt the bones break, felt the bullet pass through him instead of stopping, and felt his blood leaking out very quickly. And then he felt the pain.

He felt the pain light up his senses, felt the scream burst from his throat, felt the damp earth soak through his jeans as he fell to his knees. His hand automatically reached up to cover the wound, but he knew better than to actually touch it. It wasn’t like he could staunch the wound very well either. There were two holes, not just one— _or_ was _it one? It was a through and through, so only one hole right?_

There was both an entry wound and exit wound, and he didn’t really know what to do about it at the moment besides grit his teeth and scream some more.

His eyes were also closed, but his hearing and spidey-sense both told him someone was approaching, and instinctively, he fell back onto his ass in an automatic attempt to scramble away before he stopped himself. It was most likely the person who shot him. But it was hunting season, so it was most likely also an accident, and it was super dark outside, so this guy probably hadn’t seen him, and _oh, yeah, Pete was wearing dark clothes, so he hadn’t made himself very easy to spot._

This was his fault.

Everybody should know to wear bright colors at night so cars don’t hit you and so that you’re spotted easier if you get into trouble and need help.

Why had Peter thought that common sense didn’t apply to him? Was he stupid?

He was in the middle of berating himself when the guy came closer, mumbling between words and just apologizing in general, “I’m sorry, _ohmygosh, I’m so sorry_ , I didn’t mean to shoot you, I was aiming for the buck, I’m _so_ sorry.”

Through gritted teeth and a strained voice, Pete just asked, “Do you name _all_ the deer you’re about to kill?”

And immediately when those words left his mouth did he remember that “buck” was the term for a male deer— _of course, in Parker luck, he made a fool out of himself in front of the fool who shot him._

“Did you drive out here by any chance?” He also asked.

Because _good God_ , he did _not_ want to walk all the way back while he was bleeding out.

“Ah, I’m so sorry, no, I hiked.”

Great.

Now Pete would need to hike, too.

The man shrugged off his shirt while still talking, “I can’t see ya very well in the dark, but put pressure on that with this.” He held out his shirt.

Pete didn’t want to inconvenience this man, but he _was_ the guy who _freaking shot him,_ so covering the wound to stave off an infection would be a good idea.

“Thanks,” was all he could muster, and he breathed out heavily before sucking in an uneven lungful and pressing the shirt to his shoulder.

He squeezed his eyes shut, and clenched his teeth harder at the pain, screaming low and short again. _Did gunshots always hurt like this? He couldn’t remember being in this much pain last time he was shot._

When he came back to himself (and he hadn’t even realized that he’d spaced), the man was mumbling again, but then clearly said, “I’ve gotta get you to the hospital, come on, son.”

“Wait, wait,” he squeezed out, “Could you—“ he grit his teeth around a pained exhale and inhale, “—help me wrap this around the back, too?”

The man was eager to help, easier to show how sorry he was, and Pete wanted nothing more than to curl up in a ball and scream because _good God, it hurt it hurt it hurt,_ but he was Spider-Man, and he was strong, and he was just being a baby right now because he’s definitely had worse things happen to him.

The shoulder blade was definitely broken or shattered because tightening the shirt around his shoulder and collarbone hurt like a mother and he could swear he felt bone shift.

The man bent over, reaching to gently grab Pete’s upper arm, but right now, his whole body hurt from this one wound, so he just hissed and stood up. Yeah, he needed to get out of the woods and into proper lighting so he could patch this up. _Ugh, he was in Albany. He didn’t know anybody in Albany. He would have to do this himself—_ but how would he reach the back— _he would have to wait to get back to Manhattan and ask MJ to—_ aw, heck, this guy was already taking him to the hospital, why not just have them sew it up and— _oh, man, he did_ not _have the money for medical bills right now. Fantastic._

He moaned at the movement, his legs shaky at first but stabilized, and slowly began making his way through the trees, following close behind this man, who was still mumbling.

If Peter heard correctly, they were only two miles from the city, and Pete spontaneously asked, “Isn’t night hunting illegal?”

The man slowed a bit, ducked his head, but admitted, “I couldn’t sleep and hadn’t thought about it…”

That was a lame and shallow excuse, and Pete figured there was more to the story, but every time he opened his mouth, his jaw moved, which moved his muscle on the side of his face which was connected somehow to his clavicle and that was broken and anyway, talking made his shoulder hurt, like, really bad, so he kept silent against his own wishes.

_Do you realize that accidents like these are part of the reason night hunting is illegal in the first place?_

_Do you live around here, come here often?_

_Do you have a home?_

_Are you okay, like, do you have a job and money and means to live? Or are you scrounging for food because you don’t have a license and can’t hunt during the day?_

And with that, he realized that this man was probably not okay, and judging by the holes in his clothes, the dried mud caked all over the pants, and the smell of old blood wafting from him, Pete would wager a guess that he’s homeless. And that that gun was stolen or illegal.

This man didn’t need to take him to the hospital lest he be seen and caught or something.

It was technically none of his business, and Pete shouldn’t pry but helping people was ingrained in his _soul_. He couldn’t _not_ try.

“Hey, man, are you—“ and he cringed, gritting his teeth around the flare of pain, but working through it, “—are you sure, you want to go with me to the hospital?”

He turned around to try to see Peter in the dark, a questioning look on his face, “What do you mean? Of course. You _need_ to go to the hospital.”

“Well, yeah, but I mean, no offense, but you don’t look—I mean—you look—“

“Homeless?” He interrupted, taking the words out of Pete’s mouth.

Peter nodded.

The man added, “They’ve probably stopped looking for me by now, so it’ll be fine.”

Oh, boy. There was a lot to unpack in that statement, but Pete wasn’t sure what to do or say.

After a few moments of silent walking, Pete spoke up, though, “I don’t really want to go to the hospital myself, so you don’t have to come with me—“

“What? Of course, you _must_.”

“They’ll ask about it, and it’s clearly a gunshot wound, and then I’d have to explain what I was doing in the woods and what you were doing in the woods, and then I’d basically out you. You shouldn’t come. I don’t want to go.”

“Gee, thanks, mister, for thinking of me and all, but—“ and he stopped right in Peter’s path and looked him in whatever he could see of Pete’s eyes, and then spoke very slowly and clearly, emphasizing the weight of his words, “—you have a _freaking hole in your shoulder_ and you will bleed to death and die if you don’t go to the hospital.”

Ah, actually, no, he wouldn’t, well he probably would, but nah, he’d get someone to stitch it up and sanitize it tomorrow when he got back home— _or would that be too late?_

_Nah, he’d be fine._

“I actually get—“ he stumbled over his words, trying to not sound like a maniac or crazy person, “— _hurt_ a lot, so I have a good friend who patches me up all the time. I’ll be fine.”

The man looked skeptical but resumed their brisk walk in silence, and Pete really didn’t want silence so he rambled, trying to also make this man feel better about not dropping him off at the hospital.

“Besides, in this economy? I’m just glad you didn’t call an ambulance because my card would decline _that transaction_ and they’d just hafta kill me, I guess. And then the hospital would be, like, ‘Why is this random guy dead?’ And the EMTs would respond, ‘His card declined.’ And then the nurses would nod their understanding and say, ‘Take him to the incinerator, boys!’ And then my family wouldn’t even know what happened.”

That made the man laugh, which in turn made Peter smile.

They were only about a mile from the city, and Pete had somehow completely forgotten about the would-be rapists and kidnapped girl from only half an hour ago until he saw flashlights sweeping the area, and his spidey-sense warned him that he was about to be spotted.

He quickly grabbed the man in front of him and hid them both behind the nearest large-enough tree until his spidey-sense chilled out.

He whispered, “I’ll be fine from here. You need to get away before they catch you.”

The man looked rather sad when he answered, “I’m sorry I did this to you, but you’re being so kind to me anyway. I appreciate you.”

“It was just an accident. I’ll heal up fast. Look at me now, I’m perfectly fine! But they’re going to just keep getting closer, so you need to _move_.” And he lightly shoved the man away, as lightly as someone with super strength could, and the man waved back as he stealthily crept through the woods at night in the pitch-black darkness as if he knew them, even now, like the back of his hand.

Without superpowers, that was impressive.

Pete scaled the tree painfully, wrenching his shoulder, and forcing his arm to obey his commands. Not screaming in agony was a feat, and probably the hardest thing he ever had to do. He took several slow and measured breaths and waited. He didn’t want to get caught simply as he’d said earlier, they’d ask about the wound, yada yada, he’d be even more broke, yada yada.

He would just wait to follow them back to their cars when they were ready to go.


End file.
